


I Know

by onepercent



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Will I ever write anything longer than 800 words?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercent/pseuds/onepercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A depressed, bi-polar Southern kid may not be the best match for a constantly-talking, anxiety-ridden orphan, both struggling through college and their own personal health catching up to them, but they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know

"–and I was like, shut up Jefferson, you stupid mac and cheese fucker–"

"God, Alex!" John snapped, looking up from his too-short essay due the next day. "Can't you see I'm busy? You've told that story a million times today! Shut up for once in your goddamn life!"

Both of the couple's eyes widen as what was just said sinks in. Alexander catches the ball he had been throwing on the wall as it comes down in a graceful arc. Other than that, his body doesn't move from his spot on their crappy dorm room couch. "Funny you say that, actually," he sneers, twisting the ball in his hand. He squeezes it in punctuation of his words. "Because it was actually you, it was actually you, who said that you didn't mind my speaking so much–"

"C'mon, babe, you know I didn't mean it like that," John murmurs weakly. He has covered his face with his big hands, keeping his eyes closed as he thinks of a way to fix what he's said. 

"No, you meant it all right," Alexander replies. He closes his eyes, but his fingers keep moving the ball. "Everyone else does."

"Babe, don't be like that," John gets up from their shared, creaky little desk to lie by his boyfriend. There's barely enough room, and one of his legs doesn't fit, but it doesn't matter to him as he wraps his arms around the smaller boy. "You know I get snappy when I'm stressed. I'm sorry."

"Sure," Alexander mumbles, abandoning the ball to lie on his side. He runs his bony fingers through John's hair, twisting a curl around his index. "It's just..."

"I know," John sighs. He closes his eyes. "It's hard. We both are."

Alexander laughs and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Not like that, asshat," John chuckles with him, flicking him in the forehead with his middle finger. "I meant with both of us featuring our fabulous selves."

"Yeah," Alexander says, a smile still ghosting his tired features. "I hate it, I hate when people tell me to be quiet."

"I know babe. I'm sorry."

"It's like," Alexander begins. He props himself up on one elbow so he look down on his boyfriend. Even if he does it subconsciously, John knows his five-foot-and-a-half Alexander will take any chance to seem taller. It's quite a feat how he does it sometimes, John thinks, remembering the time he climbed up on a table just so he could yell at Jefferson for some reason or another–but that's a story for a different day. "The words kinda help me, you know? They stop me from getting too freaked out. When I don't talk, my thoughts catch up. They catch up to me. Like I'll try and be quiet and then I'm like, well, what if I die in two minutes but I don't have any last words because I'm not speaking right then? What if you, John, die while you're at the hospital on your free time? Like, that happened on Grey's Anatomy, one of the doctors got shot, he did, but he didn't die. But what if you did die? What would happen then? Would I marry Lizzie? Or Angie? They both liked me, right? They both did? And then I'm like, what if–I'm sorry. I'm talking too much now. You see?"

"I do," John says. 

"But then I'm like, what if John has an episode while I'm gone? Did you take your meds that day? What will you do when I'm not there? What will you do?"

"I know, Alex. I'm sorry I cause you so much stress."

"It's not that!" Alexander protests. "It isn't. I just worry a lot. A lot."

"I suppose I consume all your thoughts, don't I?" John asks lightly. Alex doesn't get the joke, if it was one in the first place. 

"You do," he sighs. "You really do." He takes a breath, and John knows that tell-tale sign that he's about to get an earful. 

"I work so hard," Alexander says. John is about to interject with another "I know", but his boyfriend keeps speaking. "Like, I wrote and talked my way here. Without my words, I'd still be in the Caribbean, or actually probably dead. I'd probably be dead, John. I've worked so hard, and if I didn't I'd be dead. And I don't mean to, like, belittle your experiences or whatever like a lot of people say I do, which I don't mean to do, by the way, but I've done a whole lot of great things. I'm sorry, was that arrogant?" (John shakes his head, mumbling an "it's true" quietly.) "But I've done a lot with my words, I really have. And then people tell me to shut up all the time, and I don't know. You know?"

"I know," John laughs. Alexander's too-long nails tickle his scalp, probably tracing words through the quiet he so despises. John breaks the silence before it will undoubtedly start to get to his boyfriend. "Can you finish that story from earlier before I so rudely interrupted you?"

Alexander's eyes light up and that sly grin creeps up his angled mouth again. 

"Yeah! And I was like, shut up, Jefferson, you stupid mac and cheese fucker! You mac and cheese fucker! And he was like, speechless! Really! He was, and I was like, I was like–"

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed after writing this that I write Alexander similar to how I act normally. I repeat things a lot and tell the same story over and over without realizing it and I talk way too much and my hands are always busy and the list goes on and on.
> 
> Feedback is eternally welcomed in the form of constructive criticism, praise, ideas for future works you might want to see written, or anything else you could think of.


End file.
